


Put your eyes on me

by Naqia



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-18
Updated: 2015-05-18
Packaged: 2018-03-31 04:03:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3963694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naqia/pseuds/Naqia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when two people meet for the first time to kiss in front of a camera.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Put your eyes on me

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This work was immensely inspired by the experiment "First Kiss" by Tatia Pilieva who, just as the premise in this fanfiction, made strangers kiss in front of a camera. You can find it on youtube (I highly recommend it!).  
> The THG universe belongs to Suzanne Collins.
> 
> The biggest thanks to Lou for working her magic once again and making my mess readable! You are the best!

I stand within the small white chalk circle drawn on the floor that Delly, the self-proclaimed head of this project, had pointed to. It’s a dull grey-ish linoleum with equally dull pink and puke green specks. The walls around me hardly look any better as white spots adorn the chipped light grey walls. Like almost every other room in the science building, this room is in desperate need of a new coat of paint and to be honest, they could have hardly chose a worse … stimulating location for the experiment.

We are alone in this half of the room, we are on the spot, he and I, highlighted by a spotlight to make up for the fluorescent lamps on the ceiling. He doesn’t seem affected at all, on the contrary, to me he radiates self-confidence from the rolled up sleeve of his shirt to the well-worn Converse and the slightly crooked smile that graces his lips. Only the repeated tousling of his ash blond hair that is just a tad too long betrays his seeming easiness. Even though it doesn’t change anything about my distress, at least it makes me feel a tiny bit better that I am not alone with that.

I don’t know where to look. I feel like I cannot look at him knowing what we are about to do and I also refuse to look at the camera or the people on the other side of the classroom. It is bad enough knowing they are there to observe our every interaction. I didn’t need confirming what my vivid imagination was already painting me: Madge’s smug grin, her friend Delly’s bubbly enthusiasm and the stoic calm of that New Grunge looking camera guy whose name I didn’t catch. I’d rather call them predators.

“Start any time you want!” Delly encourages as if we didn’t know.

It is warm in here, but I am also cold and most of all I feel trapped in a situation that I have been talked into. Worst of it is that it is my own stupidity because I had only given in to make Madge shut up for the sake of my sanity.

“Katniss?” Peeta calls out softly pulling my attention to him. It’s the first time that he has really spoken with me and there is a light drawl in his voice. He moves over with a footfall that seems too heavy for his smooth movements. He flashes a smile at me that looks more like a nervous twitch of his mouth before he enters the circle that measures what I think is 18 inches in diameter. That 18 inches that mark a person’s intimate zone and I can definitely feel him intruding mine. We are not touching, at least not yet, but even so it is uncomfortable to have him this close, to smell a hint of cinnamon that certainly belongs to him, to hear him take a deep breath. A nervous laugh escapes my mouth as I shift onto my other foot.

I promised Madge that I would try, I tell myself. I haven’t kissed anyone in a while. What if I really am a bad kisser like I was always told? Then there would not only be another witness but also a damn video proof. He steps even closer and smiles at me. I guess this is Peeta’s way of trying to be reassuring but honestly only shows his nerves. Maybe that’s his way of dealing with the … stage fright. I take a step back shaking my head. No, I am not cut out for this.

“Katniss,” Peeta asks more than he says it again with a soothing voice and closes the gap between us again. This time with a look in his eyes that says that we will be fine, but I gulp down though. Now it’s only inches separating us and I can feel his body heat enveloping me. Softly he pries free my fingers that have somehow entangled themselves tightly into the hem of my shirt. His hold on my wrist is loose and he lets go when I pull it towards me losing the warmth and the tingle of his touch on my skin.

Though his eyes meet mine for the shortest moment, I cannot hold his gaze and study his footwear instead. His black Converse are well worn, the threadbare laces have greyed with age and dirt and are close to the point of breaking despite the double-knot that desperately tries to hold them together.

“Put your eyes on me,” he whispers and I get the feeling that he wants to guide me through this experiment that my friend Madge and her psychology study group called “kiss a stranger”. There obviously hadn’t been enough volunteers so in the name of science and her final grade she bribed me with the promise of a weekend spent hiking in the mountains next month after finals are over for her. I have taken time off work for that.

Madge can be very convincing if she wants to and that is how I find myself here, very much outside of my comfort zone about to kiss a stranger who I was introduced to as Peeta Mellark, a “good-looking keeper kind of guy” according to Madge. The most remarkable thing about him are his looks. He is probably one of those people who look great without even trying. There is no reason why he should help me do this, why he should want to do this. Maybe he just wants to get it over with like me because he too may not be here by choice.

For a moment, not knowing what I was looking for or what I was expecting, I let my eyes meet his again. I see lighter blue specks dotting his otherwise cobalt eyes, I see his pupils dilating when they adjust to the light. The soft crinkles in the corner of his eyes tell me that his smile is genuine and the lump in my throat isn’t getting any smaller. Looking past him to the grey wall behind him is easy, ignoring his cinnamon smell with the hint of something else that hits my nostrils is much harder. Someone is coughing on the other side of the room and I flinch. Unlike me, Peeta doesn’t seem fazed by it.

“It’s only a kiss,” he says and his smile disappears, giving him now a serious expression. If I didn’t know it better, I’d think he looks worried.

“I know,” I answer in a meek voice. But a kiss is intimate, I want to say, and I don’t know you.

“Put your eyes on me,” he coaxes again even gentler this time. He sounds so sincere, so likeable and I can’t help but notice that he puts himself out here to help me, a stranger. He reaches for my wrists again and this time, I don’t flinch when his palm grazes my skin or when his thumbs draw light circles on my wrist. Another few seconds pass, or maybe it’s only a split second, until he tugs me closer gently, until we are only a hair’s breadth apart. Standing so close in front of him I realize he has the perfect kissing height for me. Tall, but not too tall. I shouldn’t think this.

I feel his hands gliding down my palms. His touch is light, barely there like before, but yet I feel it so very clearly. Then his fingers interweave with mine.

“Your fingers are cold,” he mumbles and his breath caresses my face.

“And yours are warm,” I retort, it’s certainly not the smartest things I’ve ever said but it’s the only thing that came to mind and he doesn’t comment on it.

His head bends forward as he closes the last bit of space between us. He lets his forehead rest against mine. This little tender gesture feels so foreign to me, so intimate and yet I cannot help wanting him to never stop. When he rubs his nose against mine, I close my eyes as a shiver runs uncontrollably down my back. His mouth is so temptingly close to the corner of my own that I can almost feel him.

He squeezes my hands for the tiniest moment before his lips finally touch mine. They are soft, so amazingly soft, and taste just like him, like cinnamon with a hint of something else. I feel his mouth broaden to a smile on my lips when I hesitatingly start kissing him back.

Without me noticing, he had let go of my hands to embrace me and I can feel his body heat everywhere. Up front, where his lean body melts into mine, on my back where his hands rest, holding me safely against him. And under my fingers that roam his back before they start playing with a strand of hair at the nape of his neck. But most of all, I feel it on my lips, which he nibbles on until I open them to grant him full access.

For this one moment, I feel nothing but his tongue caressing mine, his stubble scratching against my chin and his hands now cradling my face. I lean into his touch seeking the warmth and the safety that he spreads into me as his thumbs caress my cheeks. He makes me feel alive with the way his tongue teases mine and again I feel him smile against my mouth.

I hear his ragged gasp and a barely audible moan that I think must be mine. Slowly he breaks our kiss and reluctantly I let go too. We face each other, my hands clutching at his chest, his still cupping my cheeks where he still draws lazy circles. The heat is rising in my cheeks when I suddenly snap back to reality and realize where I am and how many people just witnessed our kiss while he made me forget the world around us. How quickly I had slipped into the moment.

Peeta’s face is all smiling warm and sweet, a smile that I almost wish was meant just for me. I peel his hands from my face and a strange look flickers across his features that I cannot identify. I feel the loss of his warmth immediately.

“That was nice,” he utters in a tender voice.

“Hm” is all I manage in reply.

A strand has obviously loosened from my braid that he now tucks carefully behind my ear and this is too much, too intimate. I don’t want my mind tricking me into believing that it is real when it isn’t. I need some space but he reaches out for my hand when I step back. What is this with this guy and hand-squeezing?

“Don’t be embarrassed,” he tells me, but it is easier said than done, especially after seeing that self-contented smirk on Madge’s face. With that the last bit of our moment bursts and I drop his hand immediately. Cold settles in.

Then Delly breaks the silence. “Thank you! This is so different than that what the others have shown!” She beams at us and gives me an overly enthusiastic thumbs up. “I knew why I wanted Peeta in this,” she adds, clapping her hands together gleefully.

My whole posture goes rigid. Great, this makes me feel so much better. What if he was chosen for me for the very reason that he could make me move out of my comfort zone?. Is that his reputation? Who is this guy? I try to remember if Madge ever mentioned him before today. In case that’s his reputation, it’s obvious why he is such a great kisser when he clearly has much more experience than I care to know about. Thankfully I’ll never have to see him again after today, I‘m glad I live three towns over. I’m not sure if I could live down another encounter and curse Madge inwardly for putting me on the spot the way she did. I’m sure I can dodge future visits.

“It’s been my pleasure,” I mumble out of politeness because what else could I say? And until a few moments ago, it would have been the truth. I hurry past them, not caring that I came here with Madge and everything I own is locked in her godforsaken dorm room. It feels like the walls are closing around me and I need space, I need room to breathe.

“Katniss, wait!” The shout echoes in the otherwise empty hallway of the science building where the whole dilemma was chosen to take place. Neutral surroundings and everything emphasized by bright and uncomfortable neon lights.

“See, Cato’s been, lying, you are not a bad kisser.” Madge has jogged up behind me. I notice with a hint of satisfaction that she is a bit out of breath. I am not her, I am not pretty and most wouldn’t even call me likeable. Feeling set up like this is more than humiliating.

“So this is what this has been about? Proving me wrong by exposing me to what I now assume is the man-whore of the campus? What happened to ‘the keeper kind of guy’, huh?” I snap.

“Katniss, no – NO. It’s not. Would you please stop?” Madge grabs me by my shoulders and I halt involuntary. When I don’t turn, she walks around me to force me to look at her. I keep my arms down which shake with humiliation. She doesn’t need to see me losing it and trembling I am. A hint of recognition and guilt runs across her face despite my attempt to hide my feelings but I guess my face gives everything away as usual

“You have been helping me out a great deal, you know that, and Peeta certainly is no man-whore. I wouldn’t do that to you. Peeta is a great guy, everyone knows that and I thought he might do you good. Both of you have been helping out more than you’ll ever know. And yes, I hoped it would get you over your fears, I’m sorry, but I had your best interests at heart, please believe me.” Her voice trails off as she glances over my shoulder. “We’ll talk later, I’ll wait outside for you, okay? Please don’t hate me for this!”

At the moment, I find it hard not to. “I’ll try,” I mutter. What did she think pulling a stunt like this, pushing me into a kiss that she must have known would spin my senses. At least that’s what I assume she thought by pairing me off with him.

I see her leave towards the exit. I don’t need to turn around to know who is behind me, damn I can actually feel him.

“Katniss?” he asks. Now that he is directly behind me, I inhale his scent again. It aches because minutes ago I kissed him, minutes ago he was all mine even if it was only for the camera. It wasn’t real.

“Peeta,” I reply in what I hope sounds indifferent. He doesn’t need to know that I can still feel him on my lips, that deep down inside of me I long for more. Not real, I tell myself, it was all for the camera.

My face is said to be an open book and I know it’s for the best that he cannot see it.

“I…. I…”

“It’s okay, you needn’t say anything. It was nice for me too.” I lie, understatement of the year.

“Only nice?” he asks and his breath tickles my neck.

“Admittedly quite nice,” I agree. That’s all I’ll ever admit to and even that was too much information.

“Nice enough for a repeat performance without an audience?” he enquires further and it is only now, despite knowing I shouldn’t, that I turn to face him. “You felt it too, didn’t you?” he asks.

He seems sincere, no traitorous mocking twitch around his mouth like there had always been on Cato’s. His arms reach out for me. I stare at them for a moment too long, not sure what I should do now, so he draws them back rather awkwardly but comes closer.

“I’m not another notch in your belt.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can help it. But I won’t take them back now and straighten my shoulders.

“I never said you’d be.”

To that I can only snort.

“Katniss, go out with me.”

“You’ve only just met me,” I object. I am glad that reason has taken over even though standing so close to him makes me want things.

“That’s what dating is for.”

“But I live three towns over.” It’s as if I’m rattling down a list, I hope I don’t sound as yammering as I feel.

“Katniss, that kiss in there,” he points with his thumb behind him towards room 451, “experiment or not, it just felt right. You know that as well as I do.”

I look him straight in the eye, searching for a hint that he is lying, but he never breaks the contact. I only see vulnerability in there, and maybe affection. God, I hope it’s affection.

“I don’t know,” I reply, “I…” He laces his fingers with mine. Again. And I close my eyes, lulled by the smell of cinnamon. I want to believe this can work, I truly do, but there’s him and then there is … me.

Maybe he sees my walls begin to crumble when he says: “One date, Katniss, that’s all I ask.”

“O …Okay.” I open my eyes just in time to see his smile crack upon his face before he pulls me against his chest and it feels right. There is no other word for it.

“You won’t regret it”, he murmurs against my hair.

And I don’t. Not at our first date and not at one of the many after that.


End file.
